


Sometimes Things Just Make Sense

by Sookiestark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9655271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Sansa and Tyrion reunite after years and continents apart. Will it work? Sometimes things just make sense..





	1. Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I really like Sansa and Tyrion together and I wish there were more stories about them. I don't know if they will end up together or not. This story was supposed to be small and simple but it has taken more time than I thought it would. I think it will be done by next week. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Also, chapter 4 has a reference to Andrew Marvell's poem, "To His Coy Mistress".

Sometimes things just make sense. Good practical Northern sense. She knows that gardens should be planted in the south and it is safer to drink wine than water when you travel on the roads nowadays. When she was a girl, she put her good sense on a shelf for romantic ideas and stories. Those stories were sweet for a time but the sweetness left too soon and she has the scars on her body and the crypts are full of her family, dead from dreams. 

Maybe, the small folk can marry for love. Nobles marry because it makes good sense. It solves wars and sues peace. It solves land disputes, famines, trade wars, and other bad blood from the past. Nobles must be practical about these things. 

She thinks that her parents had the way of it, or at least her father. He needed an army, and she had planned to marry a Stark, one is as good as another. Neither had expected anything, other than children, to come of it but they found love, in spite of the practicality. 

Her brother needs an army to beat back death. The people need to be protected. The Targaryen Queen has an army and three dragons from old, willing to fight for some simple concessions, concessions that were actually made years ago. She needs to return to her husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Warden of the West and the Hand of the Queen. 

This does not bother her like it had so many years ago because sometimes things make good sense. Her first born son will be Lord of Casterly Rock. Though the idea of leaving Winterfell pains her, sometimes she wonders how she can ever remain in its walls. This is the place where she was beaten, starved, cut and raped. There are places that she will never return to.. Hallways a room with a lock on the outside. There are places that only now, after months of scrubbing wood and stone do not run red with blood when washed. There are places on her body that echo the sentiments of Winterfell. 

She knows she is stronger than they all thought, smarter too. Her mother and father raised her with love and care, thinking there would be time for them to teach her otherwise. There was no time for mother or father. She is healing. There is no longer the instinct to scrub her body raw to get the feel of Lord Bolton’s hands, mouth, cock off her skin. She no longer pinches her thighs until they bruise or wishes to climb to that tower where she lit the candle, climb on that ledge and step off, flying for a second and falling like the scream of rage that she no longer bites back. This is healing, not completely healed, but better. 

She will raise her children to be cunning like Lannisters, strong like the Tyrells and she will never let them leave her. Her children won’t be caught up in the storm and scattered and lost like petals, like Stark children. They will be sturdy and stable on a Rock in a pack, or a pride. 

Her husband is a survivor, a murderer, a traitor, and still he lives and jokes and smiles. He has scars and more gray in his hair, but after all that has happened, he lives in spite of it all. Truly, this is the man to father her children. He will use all his wits, all his gold, all his might, to protect any children that are his. He is courageous but he knows when best to concede. He is honorable, but understands that honor is mutable and changing. That the world might not be black and white. These are things her father could not understand, or maybe he did. 

She has Jon send a response that all the Queen demands makes sense and will be so, just come quickly. A raven comes stating that the Queen and Lord Lannister comes. Jon sits in her solar as he does every night. Ghost is by the fire, resting and waiting. Jon seems restless and speaks, "You don’t have to do this."

“I know. I want to.”  
He frowns like he is trying to puzzle out her language. “We could figure out a way.”

“This is for the best. He is my husband. I will stay here as long as you need me, I will not leave you, brother.”

That night as she lays in darkness, except for the fire in the fireplace, she wonders what his body will feel like between her legs. She remembers his infinite kindness to her, and the way he would look at her with such open need for her regard. Somewhere in her cold body, she feels a forgotten burn, a wanton ache, and she cries into her hands with regret.


	2. Things

He knows he thinks like his father. He is not cruel or unkind, but perhaps in a different body, he may have been. It is why he is so good at knowing people and politics, why he is so good at helping the Queen rule. It is a way of seeing the world, a trick he learned years ago, that people are all puzzles, some simple, some complicated, some deadly. The sooner you figure them out, the better position you are. 

He sometimes is surprised, but rarely outwitted. He was surprised at Dragonstone, when his Queen brought up the arrangement, with the parchment in her hand. She had a secret smile and he knew she had been thinking on this since the letter had come. Daenerys spoke of how the new King in the North needed an army and she was very desirous of meeting with him, and that she had agreed to the terms with conditions. One of them being his wife would be returned to him.

He is reminded of Winterfell of before the Wars when they arrive. When he steps out of the wheelhouse in the yard of Winterfell, he was greeted once by a large and happy family, now there is three, a cripple a bastard and his wife. Only one white wolf, left from the pack. He assesses the damage to the structure of Winterfell. Even though there seems to be work, constantly being done to the walls and gate, Winterfell looks worse than when he came those years ago,so much damage done. He tallies up what still needs done, keeping track of things in the ledger of his mind. 

He looks into her eyes more worried that he will see despair or disdain, even more worried that she will see his worry and take it for weakness. Sansa is an unreadable mask of ladylike courtesy, serene, unknowable. He chuckles and thinks surely she will stab him in his sleep. 

At the feast, he drinks too much. He pushes food around his plate, lamb, peas, carrots. He does the figures in his head for the feast, for the repairs, for preparation for the war. This is a costly endeavor for the North. They are fearful and this is their best chance. He twirls the wine in his glass and thinks. He is cataloguing all he sees, all he hears, all he knows, for later on the small council.

He is woken from his reverie by a slender pale hand on his. “Sansa,” he smiles.

“What are you thinking about, husband?”

“Things, Sansa.”

She smiles and looking deeply into his eyes, and quickly looking away. “Go easy on the wine, my husband. I have brought your things to my chambers and I would like you not to drown in your cups on our first night reunited.”

He furrows his brow and thinks he should drain his glass entirely. He feels a pull in his stomach and he imagines what he thinks she means, she wants him to bed her. The thought of her in his bed makes him half-hard. he sets the glass on the table, deciding to take her advice. “I think you might have grown even taller since we parted.”

“I think so, husband.”

“You are even more lovely.”

The complement ruffles her more than he has seen all night, a slight flush, a tightening in her jaw and shoulders, and then she is a composed mask again. But she never moves her hand from his. She does have three and a half cups of wine though. 

Later when they are in her chambers, he notices her hands do not shake as she takes off her dress. However, he feels his hands are shaking, as he watches her. She sits on the edge of the bed in her shift, perched like she might fly off if startled. He goes to sit next to her and is pleasantly surprised to find his things laid out and put away, even a desk set up for him to work. She plans on him staying with her, after he beds her, to be a husband and wife in truth. Things to think about later.  
She breaks the silence first, “I brought a few books down from the library. I know how you enjoy books.”  
“Winterfell does have an enjoyable library.”

“We lost many of our books when Ramsay was Lord of Winterfell. There is something else..I must tell you what has happened so you are not shocked when you see me..”

“Theon told me some of what happened..”

“To me?” Her voices cracks but he cannot see her face because she has turned from him. 

He cannot answer her because she takes off the shift and she is naked. The scars are all over her body, like branches of a river. The scars vary in color texture size.. Some are from a lash, some are from a blade. Her legs, her back, her belly, her arms. He feels the anger build in his body, until his ears ring with it. She climbs into the bed on her side and he removes his clothes and gets in on his side. 

“Husband,” she says as he faces her. “I am willing,” but her eyes are shut tight.  
“Sansa, I am so angry at what was done to you. I am so sorry. I would have done something, if I had known.”  
“Shh I know… That is in the past.” Her voices changes tone, “You must do something now, Tyrion.” She presses up next to him seductively, but it sounds forced.

He sighs. It has been longer than he would like since he has been with a woman. He has thought about this, her in bed with him, turning toward him, and asking.. The thought had been golden edged and worked well when he took himself in hand. He touches her face and kisses her gently. She reaches between them to touch him, but she does not open her eyes and her body is stiff. 

Unbidden, a memory floats to the surface of his thoughts. The memory is of another girl, much younger, bruised face, eyes closed, her face red and wet with sweat, tears, sex. He can hear the men jeering, cheering him on to give her a go. She is ready, made ready by the dozen or more men before him.. She is naked and tense, but she's not crying anymore. In her hand, silver spills out of her fingers, he counts them. He kneels in between her legs and tries not to think of her as his wife who sang so sweetly. 

“Perhaps tomorrow,” he says to her and tries to think of other things. He curls his wife to him, smells her hair, and counts coins and soldiers until sleep comes


	3. Just

She wakes in the darkness and feels him pressed against her in their bed. At first, she panics, feels fear like a stone in her stomach and the racing thoughts. She takes some deep breaths and reminds herself it is Tyrion. She feels Tyrion stretching his legs against hers, He pulls her closer, muttering sleepily, and she wonders what he is dreaming. Who does Tyrion dream of? He kisses her back and shoulder. He still isn’t awake or he would not be so forward.

It troubles her to know that he did not bed her. She worried that it was her ruined body, her inadequacies. She hears the memories, voices of the dead that call her stupid, a whore, a traitor, liar, lousy fuck. She shuts her mind and stops the voices. She pushes her body closer to Tyrion. She knows deceit, evil, malicious intent, rage, and envy. What she wants to learn more of is kindness, intimacy, trust, and love. Maybe, he could help her in this new education.

She trusts him because she has nothing to give. Her brother is King of the North and Bran has returned and is next to be Lord of Winterfell. He could have dismissed her desire to remain married. But he wants her still. Just her. Just Sansa. 

She rolls over to look at him in the dying light of the fireplace. Margery once said she thought he was handsome. Beautiful Margery. It saddens her to think of Margery and her handsome brother, Loras, burning in the Sept, and of all the innocent people who died with them. She understands more now of what Margery spoke. Things are so much more than the surface.  
“Sansa,” he smiles at her as he opens his eyes, real smiles.  
“Tyrion, I am sorry if I woke you. Sometimes I have bad dreams and they keep me up.” she replies.  
He takes her hand and closes his eyes as he kisses it. “We all do,” he says, quietly. He touches her lips with his thumb, smiling. “It is good to see you smiling, even with the Imp in your bed.”  
She quips back playfully, “I have heard many women smile in your bed.”  
He looks at her critically and she knows he sees through her flirting. He does not want a game or a play. He wants her, just Sansa, true Sansa. She shudders and wonders if anyone would want who she really is now.

“Maybe, but none of their smiles have meant as much because your smile has been hard won and given without threats or gold.”

"Tyrion, I could get up and pour you some wine. We could talk.” 

“I cannot believe I am going to say this but I think I would rather be with you without the wine. I would like to talk. First, if we are going to husband and wife, no more of this game. I do not need you to lie to me or play me like a boy. You have spent time under Littlefinger’s study and then as the wife of a cruel man. I hear the false in your voice when you whisper soft sweet words.”  
She wanted to argue with him and tell him it was untrue but she thought it best not to lie. She held his eyes and wondered if she would ever not feel like she was lying. Would there ever be a time when they could just be husband and wife?  
He continued, “We heard rumors of Lord Bolton’s cruelty and rumors of what happened to Lord Bolton when you took Winterfell back. I see his cruelty was true. Was how he met his death true?”  
“Yes, Tyrion... When we took Winterfell, I fed him to his dogs.”  
“After what he did to you.. It sounds like justice. If he was alive still, I would have hurt him worse for what he has done.” 

She feels warmth in her belly from his words. There is truth and heat, underneath the words.  
She speaks, “But I have also heard rumors about Shae and your father… There are some who call you Kinslayer.”  
“Yes Sansa. It is true. I was killed her in my father’s bed right before I killed him”

“She was your mistress?” It is a hesitant question, one that she knows the answer but hopes it to not be so..  
“Shae was my whore. I brought her to King’s Landing and placed her with you for safety, long before we were ever attached. I was confused about her feelings toward me and I wanted her safe.” 

She thinks on this. It seems to be truth that he was sleeping with Shae when they were married. She can’t fault him. She was a girl, who hated him. She speaks softly, “Shae was kind to me.”

“Shae was kind to me, as well until she was not. I loved her once.”

“I understand.” Sansa understands what it is to want to be loved and protected, to think one thing about something and find it to be false. Just light and mirrors.

She thinks about all the dead and what Mother would say to know that she has Tyrion Lannister in her bed at Winterfell. “You have the most beautiful hair.” He takes a long piece and twists it between his fingers absently. 

“Tyrion, do you think we will survive this all, in the end?”

“I plan to Sansa, and I plan to have you with me.” He kisses her on her nose and smiles.


	4. Makes

What do you want, Sansa?  
He asks the question to himself. He wishes he was the kind of man who woman loved easily and well, but he knows he isn’t like Jamie. He has fought or paid for every bit of love he has ever been given, except for Jamie. His beautiful dead brother.  
He wants to ask her this question, so he can play to her strengths and fears. It is a way he copes, a strategy to survive. He has many skills on surviving, but it seems Sansa already has her own. They have both become killers since their time together.

 

If there was but world enough and time, he could make him love her.. But there is no time for them; there never has been. If he had the time, he could win her heart with stories and Lannister wit, with sweet words and small favors, with kindness and courtesy. He wants to win her to be kind and true man, to be a good husband, like the kind girls dream of. Contrary to what people say, he could be a good husband and a good father.

He would like to write her notes and press flowers in books, go for walks in gardens and make her laugh. He has always wanted to have enough time for her to get to know him and see through his appearance. He is afraid now that maybe he was wrong and maybe he will be as rotten and horrible as Robert, or worse his father. He has hurt people he has loved, he has shed blood and he does not cry over it. Is that how his father started? 

He knows she has chosen him this time and when he looks in her eyes, he doesn’t see resignation or fear. He sees hope, a simple flame clear and true like her kiss. It makes him trust this alliance. 

Makes.. Changing something to become useful or sustainable. You can make shoes, a keep, a sword, a law or a loaf of bread. He sighs maybe they can make a marriage, after all.


	5. Sense

He comes to their room late and tired. It was a long day and it is bitter cold. The constant cold hurts his legs and joints. Sansa has gone to bed hours ago and he hopes she is asleep. As the tales of the Others unfold, he thinks he has lied to her in telling her that he plans on surviving. Maybe all is lost. 

He left Daenerys with Jon, studying maps and generally reeking of despair. He knows his Queen’s plans for Jon. If Jon is amenable to what Danaerys plans, he will die a happy man tomorrow, if he lets the Queen bed him well tonight. 

 

He opens the door to their room, quietly, hoping his wife is asleep. He doesn’t want to lie to her so soon or ever. There is a fire roaring in the fireplace and Sansa sits in a chair doing needle work. She looks at him and rubs her eyes, smiling tiredly. “I have been waiting for you.”  
There is some food, some cheese, bread, apples. He takes some cheese off the plate and chews it thoughtfully.” I am tired,” he says. “I expected that you would be asleep. 

She pours him a glass of wine and hands it to him. “You look troubled.”

“I think there is reason to believe we have trouble.”  
She pours herself a glass of wine and drinks. “Tell me of Casterly Rock.”

He eats some bread and smiles. This was a game they would play back in King’s Landing. He would tell her stories and try to break her icy facade, her grief, her loneliness. 

“I would like to show you how beautiful it is, a golden towers rising above the sea. I haven’t been there in years, but after this, we will return.” 

“I look forward to it. Tyrion, I know you must be tired and dawn approaches quickly. Perhaps we should sleep.” 

“Come to bed then wife.”

He takes his clothes off and she blows out the candle. Sansa is as silver and pale as the moonlight that shines in, as she takes off her robe. She is a miracle and she is here with him.

Tyrion lies down on his pillow and she lies down next to him. Sansa rolls toward him and puts her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady, sturdy, strong. Absently, he is humming, some bawdy song that she doesn’t know all the words but knows the tune. She thinks he is nervous or preoccupied. She takes a breath and decides to ask for what she wants.

“Tyrion, I would very much like children, three or four.” 

“Blonde haired Lannister babies?” He is teasing her. His voice light.

“Perhaps, but they might have red.”

He chuckles… “They might even have dark and be grey-eyed and stern like your father.”

She laughs… “Your father was much sterner.”  
His chuckle turns to a full- laugh.. “That is the truth, for sure. No one was sterner than that prick.”

“I think you would be a good father. I remember how you would play with Tommen and Myrcella. You were their favorite uncle.”

She is looking up to him with endless blue eyes. He touches her jaw and traces until her cheek is in his palm. He kisses her softly, so gentle.   
She moves up toward his face and kisses him. By the way, she kisses him he knows she feels the burn, the excitement and the beginning of desire. 

 

“I told you years ago that in the dark, I could be the Knight of Flowers. I don’t want you to think of anyone else. I want you to be here with me, not anyone else.” As he speaks the words, he hears the vulnerability in his voice and he is shamed by it.

“Tyrion, this time it was you I chose.”

He kisses her nose, her cheeks, her eyebrows. She laughs lightly when his eyelashes brush against her. He smiles, still golden, even though he is scarred and weary. 

She puts her fingers to his lips to trace the edges and feel the prickle of his beard and he sucks one gently in his mouth, promising other things. He kisses her chin and her neck. Her whispers her name

She hears him but she has shut her eyes to focus on the feeling. Now, she hears Ramsay calling her cruel names and whispering threats and evil words. She stiffens and Tyrion feels the change “Sansa open your eyes. It is me, Tyrion and you are safe.” 

She laughs, “I fear I may be ruined.”

He laughs. “If you are ruined.. I am lost. We don't have to..”

“But we do. I was in that room all day with you, listening to how all might be lost tomorrow. If we die in the morning, I would like to know that I was your wife in truth.”   
There is silence between them. She can almost hear him thinking and wonders what he will say.

“Open your legs, Sansa.” 

She does as he commands. A small wave of heat washes over him. What else might she do willingly at his command? 

He rubs his fingers through the hair between her legs and finds the place he was searching for quickly. She is warm and wetter than he thought she would be. She makes a small noise when his finger rubs against her. He tastes his fingers. Her eyes are big as she watches him slide his spit soaked fingers against her sex and push into her. 

Her noises get louder and he kisses her never losing her gaze. Tyrion hears his own gasp as she slides her hand between them and runs it against his cock knowingly. 

Sansa watches Tyrion’s eyes. They are glassy, dark, and faraway, but even though he is lost in his desire, she knows he wants her to find pleasure in him. To be pleasing to her. That is his greatest wish to be well loved. His weakness is that Sansa might truly want him. It is an evil thing that has happened to her since they were parted. Littlefinger has taught her well and know she parcels people out into their wishes and needs and how to twist them to serve her will. 

His desire for her fuels her to touch him. She is not some stupid child. Sansa knows her value but he does not want her for Winterfell. He does not want her for the pleasure she brings or her pain. He does not want her for her mother or her name. He wants her because she is his chance to have kindness, care, woman's arms, children, love.  
Sansa likes the simplicity of this, him and her. It reminds her of her mother and father, just to bring pleasure, to be pleasing. 

Once as a child, Sansa witnessed her father's desire on his face as he led her mother away from the nursery. It was raw and eager, full of love. As she looks at Tyrion, she sees the same look on his face. Care and caring. Sense and sensation. 

It is the reverberations of desire between his body and hers. The strength of sweet simple want.

She opens her legs and guides him toward her opening, stroking the hot velvet skin of his cock. She kisses him open mouth, catching his moans into the cavity of their mouths create.Their bodies quicken as they are pulled together to this moment. He adjusts himself at her opening and pushes into her, feeling her shudder and tighten . He looks in her eyes and she is biting her lips . 

Thrusting into her, she moans against his body and calls his name into the space of his neck.   
It is hurried and frantic, as if something will stop this, ruin it, end it. They are fragile together, like china, easily cracked.   
He comes, as she starts clutching his body and awkwardly thrusting against him. She is finally eager, panting, wanting him. Sansa’s body is pure sensation. For him. He pushes his body against her, pulling himself down until he reaches between her legs. Her face looks eager and flushed, but she moves to protest. He put his mouth against her sex and sucks it gently, licking it alternately light and hard, until she cries out quickly, loudly. He is breathless feeling her legs tremble against his cheek and murmur his name. He kisses her mouth once more, wishing that this act will bring a child for her. Whether he makes it or not, Casterly Rock would welcome Sansa Stark Lannister with a Lannister baby in her belly. They might appreciate it more if he doesn’t make it. 

He rolls off her quiet in the dark. He is afraid in the stillness, waiting for rejection. Sansa smiles and lays on his chest. He softens. Tensions draining from her touch.   
Dawn will be here in a few hours and the battle will be on. But for right now, they are right here together and it makes sense.


End file.
